


just call my name, i'll be there in a hurry

by defcontwo



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No, we are not having sex in the gift shop of the Grand Canyon Visitors' Center." </p><p>"I was aimin' for the supply closet in the back, actually." </p><p>Happily ever after, eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just call my name, i'll be there in a hurry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [circulation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/circulation/gifts).



> For context, this could be set some time after [back in line for love again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2033190). 
> 
> Happy birthday, Alex! I'm sorry that this is a little late but I'm a big believer in celebrating birthday weeks, so. :D

"What do you say, Rogers, is this a look?" 

Bucky tilts her head down and forward, letting the bright green star-shaped sunglasses slide to the edge of her nose, blue eyes leveled straight at Stella and there's a clear message there, a c'mon, Rogers, what do you got for me, a filthy glint in that gaze that she'd know anywhere. It's the kind of invitation that Bucky knows is impossible to resist, especially looking like she does today. Today, with her blue v-neck that matches her eyes and her low hung shorts that keep revealing a thin strip of skin where t-shirt and jean meet, cotton jersey clinging to sweaty skin in the heavy Arizona heat. 

"Nope," Stella says, flipping the postcard rack around, wincing only slightly when she spins it too hard and it almost topples over, Captain America's quick reflexes righting it just in the nick of time. 

They're trying not to draw too much attention to themselves. That's the idea, anyways, but there's a certain fuck you written into every line of Bucky's body these days, like any second she could throw a punch, could start spitting blood and curses and scream until her throat is hoarse, until the whole world stops looking at her like she's the worst kind of cautionary tale. 

"Nope?" Bucky says, hooking the sunglasses into the collar of her v-neck and inching into Stella's space, hooking her chin over Stella's shoulder and sliding the flesh and blood hand into the front pocket of Stella's shorts. "Nope, what?" 

"No, we are not having sex in the gift shop of the Grand Canyon Visitors' Center." 

"I was aimin' for the supply closet in the back, actually," Bucky says, whispering into the curve of Stella's ear, sending a shiver all the way through her and then some. 

"Well," Stella says, pursing her lips like she's taking her time with it, like she's thinking it over, like the decision wasn't already made from the second Bucky shrugged on that goddamn v-neck shirt this morning. "When you put it like that." 

"That's my girl." 

. 

(Bucky forgets to put the sunglasses back but they don't realize it, not until hours later when they're tripping into the next motel room, sticky with sweat and smelling like dust and wind and sex. Bucky goes to lift her shirt off and the sunglasses come tumbling forward, poking her in the eye and Bucky laughs so hard she cries and surely her belly must ache with it and Stella, all Stella can do is watch and laugh and pray to any gods that are listening that this light never leaves her life again). 

. 

The thing is. 

The thing is, Stella has a reputation. They say she's a ball-buster. They say she doesn't have much of a sense of humor. 

They call her a cold hard bitch. They say she's too serious for her own good, that she takes everything too seriously, herself included. 

They don't get it. 

If she doesn't take herself seriously first, no one else ever will. 

As for who she is when she's at home, well. 

That's no one else's goddamn business. 

. 

"C'mon, Buck." 

Bucky doesn't move an inch, her head buried deep in a book; it's some thick tome about comics and superheroes that Stella had teased her about buying in the first place but became thankful for over the passing of the week because it's provided her with so much material to press down with charcoal and paper. 

Bucky, with her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun and an entranced scowl set deep in her face. Bucky, flipped upside down on the couch with the book held out in front of her. Bucky, standing at the counter with the book propped up next to her as she stirs a pot of home-made soup. 

She was always like this, before. 

Stella could've paraded around naked in their apartment for a whole goddamn day but if Bucky was reading one of her books, one of many in an endless parade of slim paperback pulps about space and Mars and the limits of human potential, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell at getting noticed. 

"Radio's playin' our song." 

"We don't have a song," Bucky says, still not looking up. 

"Sure we do. What kind of couple doesn't have a song?" 

The opening strains to "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" filter through from the radio and Stella's foot is already tapping loosely to the beat. The first time she heard this song was in the middle of nowhere Montana in a beat-up stolen Chevy with Sam, tracking down their fifth dead lead in as many weeks. Sam was at the wheel and she'd stolen a quick glance in Stella's direction, that easy smile of hers quirking at the edges of her lips before leaning over and cranking up the volume. 

It's cheesy as hell, sure, but something about this song helped Stella keep going at a point when all she wanted to do was lie down and give in. 

That's the funny thing about the future. There's a goddamn song for everything. 

Stella draws herself out of the memory only to find Bucky standing right in front of her, still as a statue, book abandoned face down on the couch. Bucky holds out her metal hand and raises an eyebrow. "Well, alright, Stella. You wanna dance, let's dance." 

Bucky slips an arm around Stella's waist, drawing her in close until they are skin to skin, thin cotton to heavy kevlar. It's been a long, tough day on top of a long, tough week and Stella's feeling a little loopy, a little light-headed, a little like all she wants is to get crazy stupid over her best girl. 

Stella hums along, off-key, and Bucky slants her a look upwards through her eyelashes, like she doesn't know whether to mock or let it be, but she must decide on neither because then she's spinning Stella outwards and then reeling her back in, Stella's heavy, boot-laden feet rushing to catch up. 

"'M a terrible dancer, aren't I," Stella murmurs. 

"The very worst," Bucky agrees. "Lucky I'm good enough for the both of us, huh." 

"And modest too," Stella teases. 

Bucky harumphs, dropping Stella into a dip in one smooth, careful motion and kissing her soundly, just like in all the movies they used to sneak into when they were kids and couldn't spare the money to pay for tickets. 

"Good day?" Bucky murmurs against Stella's lips. 

"Terrible day," Stella admits, as they right themselves, slotting right back into place, Bucky's thigh slipping between hers. "Stark is an asshole." 

"Yeah, what'd he say this time?" 

"Asked if you ever fucked me with your metal arm."

"Yeah, and what'd you say?" 

"I said sure, of course. That you fucked me with it once a day and twice on the weekends if I was lucky," Stella says, an impish grin curling around the edges of her mouth, the sight of Stark shocked silent a fond memory that she'll keep tucked away for her worst days. 

"You're such a shit, Stella Rogers," Bucky says.

"Wouldn't have me any other way, though, right?" 

"Not in a million fuckin' years, sweetheart." 

. 

"Do you think we should get a dog?" 

Bucky turns over in bed and stares. Her hair is sleep-mussed and there's lines creased into her skin from the pillow. She is, as always, the most incandescently beautiful thing Stella's ever seen. "What?" 

"We haven't killed the cactus yet. Sam reckons maybe we could handle a dog. You've always liked dogs." 

Bucky stares some more, and it takes a few more seconds for her to blink the sleep away but then she shrugs. "Sure, why not. We're still not buyin' a station wagon, though." 

"What does that have to do with anything?" 

"Everything, Rogers. It has to do with everything." 

Stella rolls her eyes, re-settling her left arm, tucking it around Bucky's waist. "Go the fuck back to sleep, Barnes." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

. 

They get the dog. 

They don't get the station wagon. 

They somehow, by some miraculous, uncanny twist of fate that Stella will never stop thanking the universe for, keep moving forward.


End file.
